Carlos Gets Pwned
by plenoptic
Summary: TFArmada. Carlos sees something horrific. The Autobots investigate. Heavy slash, OptimusXJetfire. Hooray for emotional scarring! M for sexual themes at the end.
1. Carlos Gets Pwned

**Carlos Gets Pwned**

_Plenoptic_

**Phoenix has been having no small amount of fun tormenting poor Captain Lennox in her fic with Optimus and Arcee (the title fails me—sorry!) so I thought I'd jump on the We-Hate-Humans bandwagon XD Did Armada just because I watched a few eppys yesterday and I hacking HATE the Armada humans.**

**Slashtastic. I've always had a thing for OptimusXJetfire. Takes place between "Tactician" and "Link Up."**

* * *

It was a scream. An earth-shattering, horrified shriek that echoed throughout the entire base, drawing the attention of its few inhabitants away from their tasks. Red Alert and Hotshot straightened from their stations, where they'd been working on the shuttle for the journey home; Scavenger, blatantly uninterested as usual, spared barely a glance upwards; Blurr arched one optic ridge, shook his head once, and went back to work; Smokescreen joined Red Alert and Hotshot in gaping as the source of the scream came sprinting down the hall.

Carlos had seemingly morphed into something of a gazelle, his freakishly short little legs carrying him in leaps and bounds over the equipment strewn all over the floor as he hurtled down the hallway. His brown curls were a tousled, bouncing mess; his arms flailed helplessly at his sides; his eyes were wide as saucers and full of tears.

"NoooooooooooOOOOOOOOOO!" He shrieked wildly as he flew past the astounded bots, barely noticing when he brutally stubbed his toe on Scavenger's opposing foot. "I'M OUTTA HERE, MAN! I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE! I CAAAAANNNN'TTTTT TTAAAAAKKKKKEEE IIIIITTTTT!!! _NOOOOOOOOO_!!!"

His girlish screams died down marginally as he turned the corner, leaving five bewildered Autobots gaping in his wake. Scavenger snorted and leaned back in his chair, shuttering his optics with a muttered "Whatever"; Blurr's attention, however, had been somewhat piqued, and he was surveying the surrounding area carefully.

"What could have set him off like that?" Hotshot wondered, getting heavily to his feet and scratching the back of his helm, concerned for the well-being of his little buddy. "Guys?"

"Who knows?" Red Alert answered, shrugging. "Humans are odd creatures."

"…Where are Optimus and Jetfire?" Blurr asked aloud, getting to his feet and looking about with a frown. "I would think that they'd come running if they heard Carlos screaming like that."

"Maybe they didn't hear him. It's a big base."

"You kidding?" Scavenger snorted. "I bet they heard him way back on Cybertron."

Red Alert sighed, standing up and dusting himself off. Clearly, they weren't going to get any more work done until this mystery was solved. "Alright, alright. Hotshot, Blurr, come with me. We'll figure out where the commander and vice commander are, figure out what scared Carlos, and then back down to business."

"I'm going too," Smokescreen said immediately, scrambling to get up. "I wanna know what's up."

"I've got nothing better to do," Scavenger agreed, and so all five of them trooped down the hall from which Carlos had come.

They came upon their missing comrades soon enough; the hall brought them to the residential quarters, and Optimus's door was slightly ajar.

"Well, there you have it," Red Alert said, stopping and planting his fists on his hips. "They were probably watching a war video or something and it frightened Carlos." Good. Now that that was over with, they could all get back to work…

"I don't think so," Hotshot said doubtfully, stepping around Red Alert and up to the door. He knocked lightly—"Hey, Boss? I'm coming in,"—before opening it and peering inside. His whole frame froze, a slow, rigid motion that began in his feet and worked up to his helm. He mumbled something unintelligible.

"Hotshot? What's up?" Smokescreen inquired, poking his head around his friend's shoulder. He, too, froze, leaving two mechs standing stock-still in Optimus Prime's doorway.

Red Alert released an impatient huff, stomping up to the duo. "Honestly, you two, what on Cybertron is—" He shoved them out of the way, looked into the room, and almost fainted on the spot.

Jetfire had Optimus Prime pinned up against the wall, kissing him mercilessly, one hand pinning the commander's above their heads, the other groping Prime roughly between the legs. Their crotchplates had been abandoned on the floor. Optimus was moaning into the kisses, panting and gasping, breathing Jetfire's name between lip locks. Jetfire released a low, predatory growl, leaving a firm bite against Prime's jaw before capturing his moist, warm mouth again.

Red Alert released an odd gagging noise; Scavenger poked his head in and let loose a bark of laughter. Jetfire backed off of his prey momentarily, turning to face their visitors while Optimus panted and tried to regain his composure.

"What?" Jetfire inquired, lifting an optic ridge as he toyed casually with Optimus's exposed spike. "You guys want in?"

* * *

**XD**


	2. Red Alert Gets Pwned

**PWNED**

Two weeks after what had been ominously dubbed "The Walk-In Incident," Red Alert decided it was time for some damage control.

Optimus Prime, having been seen being very intimate with his best friend and second-in-command, had taken to being a hermit in his own quarters, emerging only for debriefings, meetings, and missions. The normally social and talkative mech avoided excessive contact with his troops and holed up in his rooms without a word of explanation for his odd behavior. The others could only guess that he was embarrassed, and possibly felt that his integrity as commander had been compromised, and resolved to let him be until he was ready to move on.

Red Alert wasn't at all happy with so passive an approach. He'd learned from Ratchet, the most unorthodox and intrusive medic to ever grace the multiverse with his presence, and therefore decided that it was time to make Optimus's business his own.

* * *

"Jetfire? This is definitely toeing the very thin line between fetishism and depravity."

"The seriousness of that statement depends on _which_ side of the line we're toeing there, big guy. Too tight?"

"I suppose not, they're fine. I'd say the 'depravity' side."

"Hm? Why?"

Optimus Prime craned his head over his shoulder, growling at his SIC in low tones, "Because my wrists are chained to my ankles and I'm on my face with my aft in the air."

"Exactly where it belongs," Jetfire smirked, leaning over his lover's back and gently biting into Prime's exposed neck. Optimus turned his face away, groaning into his pillow.

The whole Walk-In Incident had been embarrassing. That he would never deny. He was shy enough in front of his own lovers, and he would have been mortified to be seen in so compromising a position with _anyone_, let alone the mech with whom he was supposed to have a very professional, _platonic_ relationship.

His embarrassment, however, was not the reason he'd been holed up in his quarters. He could take being embarrassed, it was inevitable when one was put in a position of command. He couldn't be perfect, no matter his crew's expectations of him.

No, the reason Optimus Prime refused to leave his quarters unnecessarily was not so much because he was embarrassed as it was that he simply did not want to be seen with such a sore aft that he couldn't even sit down.

"Not sure I can take this, Jet," Prime confessed softly, shuttering his optics when his lover entered him smoothly from behind.

"Say the word, and I'll stop," Jetfire soothed, brushing his mouthplates over the mech's audio. Placing gentle hands on his lover's hips, Jetfire began to move, thrusting his hips to hilt himself completely within the other mech before withdrawing once more.

Optimus flinched initially, the penetration giving way to a painful burn, but all too soon the pain ebbed, allowing sheer pleasure to take its place. No matter how he gritted his denta and tried to turn his thoughts, within breems Optimus found himself gasping loudly, struggling to move with his lover, nearly overcome by that divine stretch in his lower abdomen.

"Jetfire—_nngh_—harder—!"

Jetfire groaned, shifting to hilt himself deeper, hitting that sensitive, sweetest spot deep within, and Optimus's vision went white.

* * *

"Sir?"

Red Alert frowned, knocking once more, and still no response came. He'd thought he'd heard noises in his commander's quarters earlier, but all was quiet now, leaving him to knock helplessly on the door and hope someone would answer.

Taking a step back and placing his hands on his hips, Red Alert decided to make a tactical decision. Opening the recessed command panel beside the door, he punched in his medical override code, unsure of whether he should be happy or disappointed when the door slid back to permit him access.

He entered cautiously, grimacing when the scent of ozone hit his olfactors.

"Optimus, sir?" he called, peering around in the relative darkness—all of the windows were closed and opaque, barred against the Earthen sun. "Commander, where—"

Red Alert turned the corner and froze. There, strewn handsomely upon the berth, deep in recharge, was his commander. Red had always thought Optimus to be a good-looking mech, even with the mask, but he'd never thought he'd ever see his commander looking so down-right _erotic_. The Prime was only half-covered by his armor, his chest, mid-section, and privates all bare for the world to see. His thighs were open, lips swollen and slightly parted, head back and up slightly to reveal a sinewy, heavily marked throat. Never before had Red Alert seen him looking so vulnerable, so beautiful, so—

"_Don't look at him."_

The motion was so quick and so very fluid that Red Alert didn't realize what had happened until he had been thrown back and collided with the wall opposite the berth, and Jetfire had pulled up the thermal blankets and covered Optimus's sleeping body.

Jetfire looked as terrifying as Optimus did beautiful. He spun on one heel to face the stunned medic, every muscle cord coiled and ready to unleash, fists clenched, lips drawn back off his denta in a snarl, golden optics burning with rage, his characteristically friendly expression twisted into one of absolute fury.

The flier moved swiftly, too swiftly for Red Alert to track, and the medic found himself hoisted up by the collar armor by one heavy white hand and held against the wall, his air tubes painfully compressed, the SIC's snarling face inches from his own.

"Optimus is _mine_. He _belongs to me," _Jetfire growled, tightening his grip, making Red Alert gasp. "I'm the only one allowed to see him like this. So keep your optics to _yourself_."

His fingers released, dropping the stunned medic to the floor. Jet stepped back, releasing a breath from his intakes, resisting the urge to tear the intruder to shreds on the spot.

"Leave us be. And get the frag out," he snapped irritably, and no sooner had the words left his mouth than Red Alert was scrambling up and bolting for the door. Jetfire waited until he heard it slam before relaxing, rolling his shoulders and trotting lightly back to the berth.

"Unicron could devour the planet right now and you wouldn't wake up," he chuckled, peeling back the covers and smiling down at his sleeping lover. Leaning over, he softly mouthed the deep bite marks upon Optimus's neck before gently kissing his lover's lips. Optimus stirred faintly, opening his mouth and moaning softly at his SIC's attentions.

Jetfire smirked before deepening the kiss, silently claiming his territory.

* * *

**This is the prelude to something beautiful. Thank you, Orian92prime. Our shared depravity has been inspirational.**

**Keeping these chapters short and sweet so I don't have another massive project to deal with. Meh.**

**Reviiiiews :3**


End file.
